Authoresses: Usyagi a.k.a. Sarah and M0rbidity a.k.a. Hayden
Disclaimer: No own, no sue, no steal our lunch money.
Typer: Usyagi— M0rbidity: Well NOT EVEN HALF WAY THROUGH! She bloody GAVE UP! And I finished it!
Beta-reader: M0rbidity
Usyagi's A/N: After much delay (school is blegh and MS Word is uncooperative) this chapter is finished. Now I can sleep in peace (Potter-less nightmares!). Until chapter 3. Oh fudge.
M0rbidity's A/N: First, it's NOT my fault that this chapter came so goddamned late! Sarah is a procrastinator and gave up and sent it to me to finish so send all angry hate mail to Usyagi. Oh and TONS of thanks to our reviewers! Except for Moses. -glares- Now, excuse me while I go smash Moses in the head with a hammer. Enjoy!
Updated Note From M0rbidity on June 16th, 2005: Yeah…it's kind of been a year. BUT AGAIN, IT'S NOT MY FAULT. Phaea is now known as Usyagi and she's given up on fanfiction "until late june". Whatever, I decided to finish and start posting again. LOVE, Hayden.
Chapter Two: Got a Bloody Job!
It was exactly 7:48 PM, three minutes since they'd finished dinner. And boredom had already consumed the room.
"Can we come?" Dean pleaded, whipping out the puppy dog eyes. His football game had ended and Seamus was finished what he called cooking - really making a mess of the kitchen - an hour ago. He had given up trying to light the electric stove on fire and moved onto setting the weak-old newspaper on fire instead.
"No," Harry said sternly, "You'll burn down the museum."
"That's not me, that's Seamus!" Dean pointed out, acting insulted.
"Hey, I'm not THAT much of a pyromaniac," Seamus defended himself, dousing the flaming papers in dish water and running over to the couch to stuff his lighter 'subtly' - do note the sarcasm - between the cushions.
"You're the reason we have electric stoves!" Ron snorted.
Seamus pouted in defeat.
"Can I at least drive?" Dean tried once more.
"NO!" his three roommates screamed in perfect synchrony with bewildered looks on their faces.
"Last time you drove off by yourself, we never saw Harry's car again," Ron remarked, smoothing his tie. Harry had informed him that it wasn't a belt and it wouldn't go around his waist, but rather his neck. How queer, Ron had thought.
Seamus shook his head in sad agreement.
"Hey! I have a perfectly good reason for that. You see, the car, I-"
"Traded it for magic beans," Harry finished for Dean, now pulling on his shiny, polished shoes and indicating for Ron to follow suit.
"Which we had for dinner that night," Ron pointed out.
"And no magic beanstalks have sprouted from our tummies yet, eh Jack?" Seamus added, poking Dean in the stomach for emphasis.
Harry and Ron were already out of the room by then, shutting the door tightly behind them. Yet still they could hear the bickering through the walls.
What thin walls they had… oh right.
Way back, maybe a year or so ago, Dean had gotten too excited during one of his football games on TV and tackled the wall, head-on. He had blamed it on the fact that it was the tie-breaking and also winning touchdown. In the process, he had smashed a hole in the wall the size of an elephant - okay, so maybe a BABY elephant.
They'd been too poor to hire someone to fix it and decided to do it themselves. And their fixing was about just as good as Dean's driving – not very good.
Harry sighed. He made a mental note to patch up that wall, the burn marks on the furniture, fix the melted toaster, and buy a new car when Ron got his first paycheck.
How did someone so responsible and sane end up with such crazy and mental friends?
"TAXI!"
A yellow car zoomed by the two figures standing at the curb of the street, not even slowing its speed.
"BASTARD!"
"Ron, let's just walk. It's only two blocks." Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder and guided him in the direction of the museum.
"Two blocks! Two bloody blocks! By then we could be attacked by squirrels! Or chipmunks! Or those nasty bunny-buggers," Ron shuddered, but allowed Harry to drag him along.
"You really need to get out more," the raven-haired boy commented, "Fresh air will do you good."
"Or fuel my allergies," his red-haired companion mumbled, shifting a bit uncomfortably in the stiff suit.
'It's the city! Who's allergic to air?' Harry wondered to himself. He decided not to question it, since logic wasn't in Ron's vocabulary.
"Could be worse," he decided to say.
"That it could. Damned goldfish…"
The raven-haired boy sighed, deciding it would be best just to get to the museum as quickly as possible, to avoid further paranoia from the artist.
The two had arrived precisely on time - at least by Ron's watch, which could have been off a minute or two. Or ten. Oh well, no biggie. They got there in one piece, right?
No delays from squirrels, no chipmunks, no bunnies, or those damned goldfish.
So far so good!
Right as they reached the front steps of the magnificent building, Harry and Ron straightened their suits, smoothed back their hair, and walked in standing at their full heights. No one would be able to tell they just ran there. (Ron had insisted on racing to the museum in fear of squirrels.)
"Wow, look at this place!" said Ron enthusiastically, his eyes shining in child-like eagerness.
Pure ivory walls stretched thirty feet above their heads, merging with an equally white ceiling. Paintings of all sorts hung on the walls as the only decoration – in any case, the only ones needed. It was as if the white bled in a prismatic waterfall.
Ron sighed. He was in paradise.
Harry nudged his companion, and whispered, "Food."
Slowly absorbing this tiny piece of information, the red-haired boy blinked twice. He finally shifted his attention from the walls to the buffet table in the corner of the exhibit.
"Food!" he declared giddily. Even though it was only half an hour or so since they had dinner, why pass up the chance to stuff in a little free cuisine?
Half an hour later -
"What do you mean the paintings were destroyed!" Hermione shouted incredulously into her mini Nokia cell phone. She had been standing in the desolate lobby of the museum where she had been arguing into her cell for the past hour.
Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped.
"Whoa, are you okay?" a familiar voice asked. Hermione looked up to see the boy she met at the café.
"Yeah, um, I'm going to have to call you back Oliver," Hermione said into her cell and instantly flipped it closed and slipped it into her small purse.
"Hey, so you came," she smiled and then asked, "Why are you here in the lobby?"
"Yeah, I came with my friend, Ron. And I decided that being embarrassed in public with him isn't something that I want to do frequently. I was going to rest outside but I heard someone yelling," Harry explained, laughing.
"Sorry for the yelling, but one of our curators just told us last minute that three of our paintings were destroyed while being shipped," Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Is there something I could do?" Harry asked, his Samaritan side showing.
"Not unless you can paint three paintings for the Surrealism exhibition by next month," Hermione sighed. Harry couldn't help but laugh a little at the brunette's manner.
"What?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, it's just that you look so serious. You're very into your job, aren't you?" Harry asked.
"Of course, my father is the founder of this and 3 other museums. I really should be, shouldn't I?" she said.
"What?" Harry blinked.
"My father owns this museum. He's an art collector," Hermione said back without batting an eyelash.
"Wow, no wonder you know so much about art. I knew you looked rich," Harry said, looking impressed.
"Yeah, you're one to talk. Mr. Harry POTTER," Hermione said, looking somewhat furious.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, trying to sound innocent.
"I came back to the café after you left and asked the red-haired girl at the counter what your name was. You're Harry Potter, the son of the famous James and Lily Potter!" Hermione emphasized, giving him a knowing look.
"Um…yeah…about that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone. Ron and I have been running from the paparazzi for years. They've only recently stopped when my mum's last sculpture was sold," Harry said, with a slight tone of grief in his voice. Every time he thought of his parents' death, he got all choked up inside.
"Oh, I'm sorry for bringing your parents up," Hermione quickly apologized, looking ashamed.
"No, it's okay, but how about we get back to the exhibition. I think it's time you met Ron," Harry suggested.
Surrealism Exhibition, Left Wing -
Ron was standing in front of a Dali painting.
Passerby would've never known him to be a complete slob and lazy couch potato by his current mannerisms.
His expression was one of pure concentration and inspiration. And as Harry walked up to the artist, he swore that he could see all the little brain cells in his thick skull moving. These were the only times the red-head ever looked serious.
Interrupting his reverie, Harry cleared his throat. Ron turned to him, eyes still hardened and calculating as he shifted his glance from Harry to a brunette he'd never met before.
"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger, associate manager of the Tate Modern," the brunette said, putting forth a hand.
"Er, hi, I'm Ronald Weasley," Ron said, shaking her hand.Hermione's eyebrows rose slightly.
"Wow, Ronald Weasley. I've seen some of your work and I have to say that most of it is magnificent."
Ron smiled brightly at the compliment.
"Why, thank you. Where exactly did you see it?"
"Oh, my father owns this museum and the Saatchi Gallery as well and I saw your painting 'Through The Kaleidoscope' hanging in the Modern and Contemporary wing. It was breath-taking," Hermione gushed slightly.
"I'm glad you liked it…does this mean I get the job?" Ron asked bluntly. Gone was the serious artist and in its place was...well, Ron. In the corner of Hermione's eye, she could see Harry slapping his forehead.
"Well, I'll need you to fax your resume to my assistant but yes, I'm pretty sure I'll be expecting you here on Monday morning," she smiled as Ron gave out a sigh of relief.
"Thank God! Now I won't be tortured by Fred and George!" Ron said.
"Huh?"
"Don't ask," Harry said, shaking his head.
As the night progressed and Hermione introduced Ron to more and more people who instantly recognized him, the red-head couldn't help but think that things had gotten significantly better for him.
…That, and he didn't have to worry about being tested on by his twin brothers.
TO BE CONTINUED
Usyagi's A/N: I'm bored. HOMEWORK IS THE WORK OF… home. Yeah. So I'm at home and I'm going to do it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter anyhow.
M0rbidity's A/N: Easy for YOU to say, you slacker! Anyways, I'm trying to make the locations as accurate as possible. I just spent an afternoon studying Southwark, London England. And I learned a lot about London I never knew. Knowledge feels good. Okay, I'm gonna thank the reviewers now since USYAGI is too lazy to do it. - grumbles but secretly loves this job - Oh, and I'm sorry if it sucks, I'm too lazy to check it and it's not that good cause I rushed. so :P